The Scientist
The fluorescent lights in the lab flickered intermittently, casting a sterile glow over the rows of monitors and stacks of papers scattered across metal desks. The soft hum of machinery filled the air, a monotonous soundtrack to Henry Wu’s late-night routine. He tapped a few keys on his laptop, eyes narrowing at the data displayed on his screen.
Reaching for his phone with a yawn, he checked the time—2:13 AM. Monday morning. He sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. He knew he should have gone home hours ago, but the pressure to deliver results kept him at work. This project was too critical, too dangerous, to leave unfinished.
The military had contracted the organization he was a part of with developing a bioweapon—something subtle yet devastating, capable of crippling a hostile nation without resorting to nuclear warfare. It was intended as an alternative meant to be used to prevent the end of days, if it would even be possible at that point. The project demanded secrecy, precision, and above all, results. But success had been elusive. The virus they engineered was potent but far too unstable. Every test subject had succumbed within hours or days—except one.
In the corner of the lab, the lone survivor sat in its containment enclosure: a rhesus monkey. Its sickly yellowish eyes glinted under the lighting, following Henry’s every move. The creature’s gaunt figure trembled slightly, its ribs visible beneath its patchy fur, and its limbs longer than normal. It had endured the virus for a full week now without succumbing—a breakthrough that should have excited him. But instead, it filled him with dread. He knew the implications—what they were creating here was far more than just a mere weapon.
His phone vibrated in his hand, the screen lighting up with a caller ID: his wife.
“Henry, where the are you?!” Her voice, a mix of concern and irritation. “It’s late. You promised you wouldn’t stay late again.”
Henry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just…Dr. Marcus and the board… they’re breathing down my neck. We’ve been at this for years, yet they’ve demanded results since day one.”
“Can’t it wait until the morning? Not like things will magically change overnight,” she pressed.
“No. it really can’t. We’re so close, I can feel it,” he replied, glancing back at the monkey. “I’ll be home soon, I promise. Just go to bed without me.”
As he ended the call, a loud bang drew his attention back to the enclosure. The monkey, drawing strength from nowhere, was slamming its body against the reinforced glass, each impact sending tremors through the air. Henry’s eyes widened as cracks began to spiderweb across the surface.
“No way,” he whispered, stepping back. With a final deafening blow, the glass shattered, shards scattering across the floor. The monkey leapt free, its movements erratic, fueled by wild aggression.
Henry’s first instinct was to reach for the emergency button on the wall. His hand hovered over it, heart pounding like a drum. He knew what pressing it meant—total lockdown. The entire lab would seal itself off from the outside world, trapping everything, including him and the crazed monkey, inside. There would be no survival or escape for him.
A wave of fear, panic, and self-preservation washed over him. He couldn’t die here, not like this. With a shaky breath, he withdrew his hand, snatching his laptop from his desk instead. His fingers trembling as he clutched it against his chest, pivoting towards the exit.
Behind him, the monkey lunged, its elongated arms reaching for him. Its teeth just barely tearing through his lab coat, grazing his arm as he twisted his body to dodge. Pain flared through his arm. He stumbled but didn’t stop moving, adrenaline propelling his feet forward. He burst through the lab doors, sprinting down the sterile hallways, leaving a thin trail of blood in his wake.
The parking lot loomed ahead. After fumbling over his car keys, he threw himself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. The engine roared to life, tires screeching against the pavement as he reversed his car to speed away.
In his sideview mirror, he caught a glimpse of the monkey. It had followed him outside but now stood in the doorway of the staff entrance, staring into the distance, its grotesque and sickly form clearly visible in the parking lot’s lights. Then, as if predetermined, it turned and vanished into the night, disappearing into the darkness, heading towards the city lights.
Henry’s breath came in ragged gasps, his mind racing with a horrifying thought:
It’s loose!
And it’s all my fault.
Somewhere in New York
The rumble of vehicles echoed through the wet streets as they rolled through the heavy rain, the sound of tires slapping against the slick pavement. The night was dark, the sky obscured by thick clouds, with sheets of rain falling relentlessly from above. The flashing lights from the convoy of police vehicles reflected off the wet asphalt, casting an eerie red and blue glow over the closed-off streets as we approached our target—a sprawling warehouse complex tucked in a neglected corner of the city. A mix of black and gray armored vans rolled forward, followed by a line of squad cars, each supposed to be the symbol of justice, of safety, of peace. It was a miserable night, but for us, it was just another day—no, another night, on the job.
Inside the lead van, I sat with my jaw set, my hair hidden beneath my helmet, my eyes scanning the operation map on my tablet. It was 11:36 PM on a Saturday night. The warehouse we were raiding was a known hotspot for illegal activity, and tonight we are going to shut it down. The gang hideout had a reputation—drugs, weapons, human trafficking—and with this raid’s success, we could potentially cripple their operations for good.
Over the radio, I delivered a final reminder. “We’ll be there shortly. Now’s the time for final preparations. Remember, this is the real deal,” I said, my voice steady.
As the convoy neared the warehouse, we began to prepare. The SWAT team, a well-oiled machine, began checking their gear—rifles and sidearms loaded, body armor in place, helmets secure, radios tuned in, extra gear fastened in their respective pouches. The armored vans rolled to a stop, forming a tight perimeter, with the squad cars positioning themselves further down the street to apprehend any who might manage to slip past us.
“Ok, get ready to dismount. Target is the large warehouse complex in front. We have a warrant, but I doubt they’ll care… Intel indicates that there’s two main entry points, so we’ll split into three teams. Team 1 will breach the main entrance. Team 2 will take the other shortly after the party starts, and Team 3 will stage an initial perimeter net to capture anyone trying to run. Remember, standard arrest protocol, but if shit hits the fan, we’ve been given permission to shoot to kill,” I said grimly as each team got ready to dismount.
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After a collective of “10-4” and “affirm” I nodded to myself, reaffirming my resolve. I’ve been through dozens of operations like this—planned, precise, fast—but something felt different tonight. My instincts screamed at me to stay sharp.
The vehicles slid to a screeching halt in front of the warehouse, the sound of rain pounding on the roofs of the SWAT vans mingling with the rumble of their engines and the slap of feet splashing on the pavement. The air was thick with humidity, and the cold bite of the night air made my breath visible as I exhaled. The team dismounted with practiced precision, weapons lowered but ready, scanning our immediate surroundings. I took a deep breath, focusing on the task ahead. After a final scan for any pressing signs of trouble, I finally gave the signal to breach.
The sound of a battering ram smashing through the warehouse doors reverberated around us. In an instant, my team and I flooded the warehouse. The low hum of industrial machinery and the smell of stale air surrounded us, followed closely by the pungent scent of freshly used narcotics and the sound of shocked shouts from further inside. The building was a maze of containers, boxes, machinery, and towering shelves. Visibility was low, and every corner could hide an enemy.
“NYPD, we have a warrant!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the tension. “No one move!”
The command echoed throughout the warehouse as we spread out, moving swiftly to clear the area and find vantage points. The gang members, caught off guard, reacted quickly—some fleeing into the shadows cast by the dim lighting, others reaching for whatever they had on hand to use as a weapon.
“Hands in the fucking air!” One of my officers shouted.
“Keep your hands where I can see—,” another began to yell, but before they could finish speaking, an eruption of gunfire began.
The warehouse was thrown into chaos. Gunshots rang out as gang members opened fire on us, with some diving for cover behind whatever was nearby, and others taking wild shots at us. I raced for cover behind a steel support beam, shooting ahead blindly, adrenaline coursing through my body. The sharp crack of gunfire was all around me, too close for comfort, with the occasional shout or groan from either side. My team similarly dashing for cover around me.
I pushed ahead further, kneeling behind a stack of containers, but as I did, a figure emerged from the shadows with a frenzied shout.
“You fucker!”
The gang member lunged at me, wielding a metal pipe. We entered a frantic struggle; as he shoved me away, he swung at my exposed chin. Pain jolted through my skull as it connected, and a copper taste filled my mouth. The world blurred as I staggered backward, vision spinning. I heard more shouting over the gunfire and the occasional groan, followed by more panicked calls on the other side of the warehouse—Team 2 must have begun their breach, I thought, but it all felt distant as my consciousness began to fade.
As I collapsed to the ground, the last thing I saw was the blurry figure of my attacker being gunned down, followed by a flurry of voices and footsteps as a handful of my team ran to my side. As the world around me started to go black my final thoughts were:
That was fast, so much for staying sharp…
Tanya
As I opened my eyes, the soft beeping of a heart monitor greeted me. The sterile scent of the hospital room mixed with the low murmur of a voice made for a somewhat soothing atmosphere. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from my mind. The pain was sharp, but it was bearable compared to the initial blinding agony that landed me here.
Turning my head slightly, I noticed a TV mounted on the wall across the room. The voice of a news anchor cut through the haze, drawing me into the broadcast.
“…and despite the success of the raid late last night, as reported by the commissioner and the mayor, there remains a lingering disappointment among the public. This gang, responsible for drug paraphernalia, weapons dealing, and human trafficking, had grown far too close to the heart of our Big Apple, putting many at extreme risk…”
My focus shifted as the TV displayed footage from the raid’s aftermath: officers shoving arrested gang members out of the warehouse, their hands cuffed, followed by scenes of seized weapons and drugs being loaded into vans.
“Fortunately, there were no fatalities amongst NYPD officers during this raid, though several have been reported to have sustained minor to severe injuries. Ultimately, however, I can safely say that this gang hub was thoroughly eliminated,” the anchor continued with a stoic face.
Startled, my heart skipped a beat. I winced as I turned my head towards the door, neck stiff from being in one position too long. A nurse entered the room, fully breaking my concentration on the TV.
“Hey there,” the nurse said softly, approaching my bedside in a practiced manner. “How are you feeling?”
I opened my mouth to speak but found my throat dry, my response coming out in a raspy voice. “Um… I’m fine I guess, head feels awful… Hey, what happened?”
The nurse offered me a lazy smile, probably an attempt to seem concerned and sympathetic, yet clearly just trying to be professional. “Well, you took a nasty hit to the jaw. Luckily nothing serious, all things considered. A minor concussion, some pretty bad bruising, a few stitches to fix your split chin… bit your tongue something bad as well…” She paused. “Though I will say, you’re definitely lucky, especially compared to some of your fellow officers.”
I nodded with a frown, still groggy and a bit annoyed. My attention wandered back to the TV, my mind slowly processing what she said.
Lights out. Just like that, huh? Crazy shit.
I thought to myself, fully focusing on the TV as the anchor’s voice drew me back in, reporting on some bizarre and strange videos that started circulating on social media overnight.
“…in other news, strange and disturbing videos have emerged locally. One shows a man exhibiting bizarre symptoms—sweating profusely and moving erratically.” The screen switched to a recording of an elderly man twitching sporadically, drenched in sweat. The clip ended as it zoomed in on the man’s creepy yellowish eyes.
“…another video shows a strange figure attacking a passerby, jumping out of an alleyway and biting them before nearby police officers were able to arrive, with the beast fleeing back into the alley. Authorities have yet to confirm the full extent of the situation but have said the attacker resembled a monkey…” In the background, a video of a nasty-looking creature lunged at a woman, biting into her shoulder before a duo of police officers nearby sprinted to the scene. With a crowd of panicked pedestrians gawking at what was unfolding.
The nurse, noticing my intense focus on the TV, stopped what she was doing. “You seem pretty focused on the news Ms. Richter. I’ll leave you be for a while and come back later.” She closed the door softly as she left.
“…while many speculate the videos to be some sort of elaborate publicity stunt or form of clickbait, aimed at grabbing attention for views or even to create hype for a yet-to-be-announced movie or show, many others are left less certain. Some believe it could be a never-before-seen drug-induced state, while others are growing worried it may be a legitimate sickness. But… at this point, there’s really no confirmation on what’s going on. Again, no word from NYPD, Central Park Zoo, or any film studios.”
The news anchor hesitated, as though searching for the right words, before finishing with a forced laugh, seemingly to try to brighten the mood.
“Or maybe… just maybe… it’s the dawn of New York’s very own zombie apocalypse. Hahaha.”
A chill rippled down my spine, the words cutting through me like an ice pick. Before I could question my body’s reaction, I felt a key clicking into place—a flood of memories overwhelmed me.
Those videos, the possible sickness, the attack… that wasn’t just some publicity stunt. That was real. What the news anchor said was fact, not fiction, and this was just the beginning.
That lame joke, I’ve heard it—no, read it—before, long ago, in a past life that felt distant yet recent. Through the eyes of someone I could no longer vividly recognize. The news segment ending with the zombie joke… it was eerily familiar...
A further flood of déjà vu hit me, and my breath caught.
I sat up slightly in my hospital bed, my mind spinning once more. It wasn’t my memory; it wasn’t me that read it—yet it also was—a vague scene of a man reading a web novel late into the night quickly flashed through my mind.
The realization hit like a bolt of lightning.
That wasn’t simply a random joke—it was the end of a prologue to a certain story. A story that I read in a past life—where the world fell apart, where an outbreak spread uncontrollably, where the dead began to rise. The prologue began with bizarre videos and rumors, speculation about zombies that no one really took seriously until it was too late.
The details of the story flooded my mind:
A heroine surrounded by cringy, lackluster men, vying for her affection despite their situation, constant struggles for survival, an out-of-the-blue, convenient hope for a cure that was never expanded on. A mutating zombie virus straight out of a video game. A handful of occasionally occurring, just as lackluster, antagonists that would appear to further the plot.
And most importantly…
…just how awful that novel was. It was axed after a couple hundred chapters. If this is truly reality, then even with my knowledge of the story, the future is uncertain—that’s if I manage to survive…
What was that story’s name?
Does it even matter right now?
Do I have time to prepare?
Can I even survive this?
Also, I died?
And I'm alive again?!
How?
Why?
Wait, am I a woman now?!
This isn’t fair.
This is all way too bizarre.
I’m scared.
With those thoughts, more memories surged in, ones I couldn’t suppress. A whole life, a whole world—gone. And a story that was no longer fiction. Two sets of memories overlapping, beginning to give me a headache. And to top it all off, even more questions that would go unanswered.
I felt my pulse quicken.
An entire world I once saw through words on a screen, a world I thought to be fiction, two different lives, one being a life I never remembered until now.
This is all real. I’m here in that world, living it—a world of terrifying, mutating zombies, a world filled with a never-ending struggle for survival, a world with a romance plot that just did not belong.
I began to realize for certain that I was part of this story now.
As one of the minor antagonists.
One that’s killed off early of all things, destined to die and join the dead.
And most importantly I realized I wasn’t ready for what was to come.
Refusing to accept this and feeling overwhelmed, I decided the best thing to do was go back to sleep and hope this is all just a nightmare.
